Follow the Freedom Trail
by SCBM
Summary: On her journey across the Wastes to reach the Railroad, Sam, a mechanoid Assaultron, joins forces with Emre Lauder a pre-war human, and Brea Luvet a tech-savvy scavver. And together travel north into Montreal, a mysterious city cut-off from the destruction that blankets the rest of the world. On the run from a mad Sentinel only one clue drives them forward: Follow the Freedom Trail
1. Chapter 1

**Follow the Freedom Trail**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Sam**

 **1**

When it happened, it happened fast.

It was half past ten at night, and she had been on the road for many hours. Going was slow because there had been heavy showers the night before and the roads were slick. There had been little activity the past week, nothing since she had spotted the two human factions fighting over a few precious scraps of food near the last town. Raiders or Settlers, it didn't matter. Humanity had been reduced to dust.

She'd avoided the humans, partly because she didn't want to add to the already vast collection of bullet wounds she'd earned throughout the years and partly because she had no interest in company. The latter wasn't always fact. She'd been in the company of a human for some time. Evan was her best friend. Her _only_ friend, really. Although they had many disagreements, Evan's death haunted her for the rest of her life.

She was mulling these thoughts over when she heard the blast of a shotgun from the room over. She took refuge in this Red Rocket gas station this morning, lucky enough to find it right along her Path. Turned out the garage had been reworked into a workshop, but its owner was nowhere to be found. She didn't think twice before using the mechanical spare parts lying around to perform impromptu repairs on her broken body.

She was so surprised by the gunshot that she at first didn't remember the traps she had set up just before going to rest. She was more than a little stunned when the blast was followed up by a scream of pain, then a clunk as something fell to the ground.

She propped herself up on her elbows, and time-travelled for a moment inside her head, back to the Crossroads she'd passed days before, the last time she'd been snuck up on, and cursed herself for her carelessness.

 _Maybe the scavver has returned,_ she thought hopefully. But this was no lone survivor, hauling back a day's worth of scavenging to his 'home'. There were at least three other men here, standing outside and covering the one who'd been hit by her trap.

Getting into a crouch, she moved past an old weapons workbench over to the doorway, and peered out into the small diner outside the garage.

There was a man lying on his back, a few feet to her left. His arms were clutching his chest, pumped full of buckshot. His legs were sprawled near the exit doorframe, and over a tripwire that was now slack.

If it wasn't for the suit of Power Armour the man was wearing, his death would have been quick, and he would not be gurgling before her. She took no pity as she heard the figure hacking painfully inside his helmet.

She looked up to the courtyard outside the Red Rocket gas station. There were three other men out there, two of them standing behind their leader in a short skirmish line. They all wore Power Armour, but the one in front had a larger, more intimidating green-white suit. Between them and her were several husks of automobiles, clustered around the dried-up gas pumps.

"Surrender, now," said the leader. He was carrying a pistol. The men behind him had rifles. One of them levered a round into his rifle a moment later.

" _Surrender_ , goddamn you," growled the man in front, and he fired a shot that whizzed past her head and smashed the wall behind her. It was a loud, overwhelming sound in the dead of night.

She looked puzzled and apprehensive, no more than that. _I'm a sitting duck_ , she thought with a panic slowly rising. She did not understand the situation yet, but she knew this was just all wrong. She just needed a few moments…

"Paladin…" groaned the man who took a blunt shotgun blast to his chest. "Shoot it…" Although his voice was quiet, there was no ambience to stop all present from hearing him – no bugs, no birds, no nothing to muffle him. His voice could've rung out for miles around. " _Shoot this damn thing!_ "

And then everything happened.

She sprung up and onto the diner counter, sending glass shards flying. Her focus snapped onto the lead Paladin, and they held each other's gaze for only a second until she launched herself off the counter and into the air.

The Paladin pointed his pistol at her. When he screamed, " _Now!_ " the other two behind him jerked their rifles up at her airborne figure. One of them fired wildly and didn't raise his rifle fast enough to hit her, the other was more controlled, and managed to fire a burst across her flying body.

After a few moments being airborne, her left foot met the roof of a wrecked station wagon. Using her momentum she launched herself off of the roof, soaring like a miniature comet to another car, then to another, rapidly closing the distance between her and the men firing on her.

"Don't shoot the head, Knights!" warned the Paladin. He fired his pistol while slowly backing away. Seeing her bound through the air, jumping between three cars in the span of a only few heartbeats – it took all the willpower the Paladin had to stop from high-tailing it out of there.

The other two behind him didn't move; they appeared to be catatonic with fright, as if realising conventional bullets were proving fruitless against her rapidly closing form.

Using the third car as a final leaping pad, she arced up and above the group of men, doubling their heights. As she bore down on the Paladin, she raised her left arm, which from the elbow all the way down, was a long, slightly curved blade. Just before landing on top of the Paladin like an assassin on its victim, she brought down the end of the blade in a hard arc. She missed his head but that wasn't her target. She got the place where his shoulder meets the neck – a weak spot in Power Armour she'd exploited many fights before this.

She drove the Paladin to his knees. She unhooked her armblade, letting the Paladin slump down and begin to crawl away. One of the Knights, his clip run dry, reversed his rifle so he was holding it by the barrel and brought the stock down on her. The world went fuzzy as she barely caught herself from falling over from the impact. Whipping around to her attacker, she pounced forward with her arms in front and struck the Knight's chest. Her blade could not pierce the chest piece, even though the suit was brown with rust, but she'd modified her other arm for situations like this. Her fingers flexed, and several blue sparks flew from her glowing palm to her victim. The Power Armour shocked the man inside it, and after tensing up for a moment, the Knight fell back like a sack of potatoes.

She'd not forgotten about the third and final Knight, but was surprised that her back had not been pumped full of bullets as she'd expected. She looked over her shoulder and saw the Knight standing there, only a few paces behind her. The Knight threw down his rifle and held out his open hands.

" _Don't kill me!_ " pleaded the Knight. He was obviously young, naïve enough to be the latest recruit into this small 'squad' sent to find her.

She walked slowly over to the Knight, unflinching as he threw himself to his knees and begged for her mercy. When she pressed her blade to the bottom of his helmet, he let out a pained gasp of fright. She marvelled on how someone could make themselves look so pathetic.

"Please, you don't have to do this!" The Knight whimpered as her blade angled towards his neck. She looked down at him blankly, and for a moment all was silent, and the Knight felt some small amount of hope.

"You're wrong." Her metallic voice made the Knight look up at her fearfully. The next instant the world rushed, the Knight's body went slack, and he died with a quick, near silent hack as her blade jerk out to the side.

She sighed and lowered her armblade.

This had been going for years now.

The running, the hiding, the constant looking over her shoulder routine. And just when she'd think she lost them, attacks like _this_ , happen.

It was all because the most persistent, most tyrannical humans she had ever encountered, were hell-bent on bringing her in, dead or alive, as long as her _head_ was intact.

Their identities to most other people were ones of a heroic, benign organisation under the orders of preserving the technologies of the world before the Bombs.

They carried weapons of mass destruction, walked around in these suits of mountainous, atomically-powered armour, confiscating anything that looked valuable, 'for the good of mankind'. Groups of these teams, these 'Brotherhood of Steel', chased her all across the East Coast.

Far as she could tell, it was always the same squad that was tailing her. A smaller group, after tonight.

They had forced her into solitude, killed or captured all who had associated with her. Even her friend Evan couldn't stand up to them. They had stolen so much from her. The lives of her friends… the destruction of her creators…

Years it had been, the Brotherhood continued to track her down. They knew she was unique, that whatever made her tick was something they either wanted destroyed, or turned for their own purposes. She just knew they wanted to do horrible things to her.

She looked down at her body. She was dirty, pieces of armour that surrounded her mechanical internals were torn away to reveal her inner clockwork. Portions of her mechanics were missing from her stomach and chest, and bullet dents were strewn all across her torso. Dried blood painted her in splotches. Not to mention her left leg…

She groaned tiredly, dragging her fingers down her face, past her one and only burning red eye. At least her head was mostly unscathed.

 _At least_ the Brotherhood's prize wasn't damaged. After all they only needed the head, the data inside her. Her _soul._

Using her leg she flipped over the dead Knight she'd executed so that he was lying face-down. Bending over, she used her fingers to pry open the centre of the suit's back. Grumbling in frustration until at last catching a grip, she pulled free a small cylindrical object out of the Power Armour and held it out to inspection.

Fusion Core. As fresh as the recruit who had used it. Not only did it power the suits of these Brotherhood people, but it was the only thing that gave _her_ power. Or _life._

She repeated this process with the other Knight and the Paladin, who had managed to crawl a fair distance away while she was wallowing. He had bled out on the road, leaving a long stretch of red from the point she'd jumped him. With the Cores in hand, she returned back into the gas station, mumbling something about how little they carried, when she almost tripped over the Knight lying in the diner, who had met the same fate as the rest of his team.

Cursing, she took the Core from this Knight and hurried into the garage.

She collapsed onto the bedroll she'd spread out in the centre of all the containers and boxes. Most would think someone like her wouldn't need rest, but her creators had 'blessed' her with some basic human functions. One being the need to rest and clear her head.

"I want out…" she complained to no one in particular. She tried to get some rest, but after being attacked so suddenly it was hard to do so without associating every little creak as more enemies. Frustrated, she sat up and got to work.

She went on for hours repairing at least _some_ of her damaged body after the attack. She used the bits and bobs she found strewn about in the wheeled containers – using anything, wrenches, drills, ratchets – to try and beat her body back into shape. By the time she had done all she could, the sun had just about risen.

There was enough light to see herself in the Red Rocket's restroom mirror. She swore that she looked _worse_ from her own handiwork, but the thought that she was simply being too hard on herself didn't cross her mind. At least she looked intimidating enough to scare off any humans, IF a beaten-up bot was anything to be scared of…

There were those words again… _At least…_ A sliver of her rational side, telling her it could be worse. True, she could be worse off, but she never told herself that.

She looked at her reflected chest, where a faded U.S. Army star blazoned on her left breast, underlined by her model number and acronym.

She supposed there were no breaks for her kind. She and her ilk are labelled as simple robotic killers of the Old World. Assaultrons, as they were called. Most wanted her dead, stripped for parts and turned to scrap, or reprogrammed into a mindless minion. Life taught her that the world was very unfriendly, and because she was who she _was_ , it was particularly hard on _her_.

She hated who she was, truth be told. Perhaps it was the solitude getting to her. Perhaps it was the feeling that she couldn't go five steps without something trying to kill her. Maybe it was the fact she was created to do something, but was never given an answer by her creators as to what that thing was.

Perhaps it was just everything.

Sighing, she walked outside, glancing only briefly at the Brotherhood corpses littered about her temporary hideout. She looked around, seeing in all directions dirty hills that were jutted with rows of dead and mutated tree husks, wads of brown, dead ferns hugged the land. Just to add to the desolation, a crow cawed in the distance.

Wrapping her right arm around her waist, she tugged forward a small colourless bag and dug around for a moment. She pulled out a notepad and pencil, and while glancing down at the road beside her, scribbled down several words and numbers. When she was done she put them back in her bag and swung it onto her hip, and then she only stood, wondering how she would make her way in this world with this damaged body of hers (conventional bullets didn't hurt her as much as plasma or laser did, but she was far from being immune from it), wondering how far she could go with only four spare Core's before she shutdown.

 _If I live long enough to use them,_ thought the Assaultron, and started walking north.

Her Path was not, however, one of mindless wondering. She had a goal in mind, a place where people like her are welcomed with open arms, where, after countless days of struggling, she may indeed find peace and purpose in this dead world. A place for redemption, something she'd learned of long ago and made it out as her sort of _destiny_.

This place, was called the _Railroad._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **Emre**

 **1**

 _The Trail, you must follow the Trail._

 _Trail?_

 _They call it The Freedom Trail. It'll lead you to safety. They will protect you._

 _Where does it start?_

 _I don't know, but Washington is no place for you anymore. Go north, find them, they'll know what you are._

 _Who is 'them'?_

 _They want nothing more than to see you free. They call themselves the Railroad. They'll lead you to them, don't worry._

 _But I-_

She tried to speak but her voice was gone. An explosion ripped through the far wall, sending chunks of rubble everywhere. Bullets and lasers fired wildly, ripping apart the intruders and defenders alike. Looking closely, she saw the outlines of several Brotherhood breaching the facility, lead by one she knew was called Norman. She wanted to run, as ordered, but her legs didn't want to. She felt Norman's hand slip around her throat-

 **2**

The Assaultron snapped awake, waving at something with her armblade, quite sure that in a moment Norman and a squad of Knights would bare down on her, smiling wildly as he pulled her head off of her shoulders.

Instead a bird, covered in oil and attracted by the glister of the sun on her metallic chest, squawked at her, narrowly dodged her swipes, and flew away.

Her left leg groaned as she tried to stand. Sam sat up instead.

Her palm found its way to her forehead, shielding her eye from the bright sun in the cloudless sky. Her leg bobbed in its socket, threatening to fall off altogether. She looked over her shoulder, back south, where the Red Rocket was no longer visible.

 _Should never had used you so much,_ she told her failing limb. Then to herself, _They're gone now. I'm fine. I'm alone._

She was still a little paranoid after the nightmare, but it helped a little. She was content, sitting there in the suns undying gaze, liking the feeling of warmth the sun gave her. She didn't have many Core's left though; two more plus the near-depleted one inside her.

And things needed to be done.

She rose to her feet unsteadily and looked around. There were no Brotherhood, and the world belonged only to her. For miles around only the wind was her company in these blistering Wastes.

To her west, an enormous lake, stretching that way an impossible distance, rounded off on the north and south by the mainland. For the moment Sam forgot the agony of her leg, and _made_ herself look in awe at such a body of water. Her creators told her about such amounts of water existing – bigger than the river running past the place she was born – but she never quite believed them until this point. After years of trudging through dry, arid land… it was difficult to see.

She shook herself out of her stupor. She had places to go, things to do.

On a sunny rock nearby, her bag lay undisturbed. She must've done so just before passing out. She checked it. Counted her valuables, counted the Core's – though she didn't want to – and made sure her notepad was intact.

It was.

Now to go.

Her leg must be tended to, should have been tended to even before the Red Rocket, but she had no doubt the Brotherhood had already found there dead comrades and were tracking her once again. She returned to the road that ran along the lake's edge, walking along its dusty, deserted back with the lake to her left. Her leg popped and complained, first every dozen steps, then every six, then every second stride. Something clanked around inside it, making a sort of rattling tin can sound, and she had to keep her opposing hand on her hip, thinking the whole thing would fall off the moment she let go.

 _I see serious problems,_ she thought.

She had her purse at least. After walking for an hour, she spent double that time sitting on the side of the road performing repairs on her leg. By the time she was finished her leg rattled very little, but from her lack of movement her inner temperature had dropped significantly. Worse still her Core was almost depleted. She wanted to sleep, wanted to lay down for a few hours, but she knew accepting this denial would be the end of her.

"Could've told me it would be this cold, Jack," she said in a voice she didn't recognise, and laughed.

It would only get colder the further north she went, she knew. Jack had built her to feel as human as possible. The sun on her back, the wind in her face, the pain in her leg – she felt it all. Jack was a brilliant man, as was all his assistants, they had created something not quite machine, something that could feel what a human feels without actually _being_ human, and Sam hated him for it.

She staggered to her feet and looked up and down the deserted road, it was littered here and there with Pre-war automobiles, covered in rust.

She lifted the Core she got from the Paladin in her bag, opened a side panel on her ribs, and replaced her depleted Core. She chucked the empty Core aside with a grumble – the new Core wasn't as full as she'd hoped, but she felt some strength come back into her.

A wave of faintness came over her. She fought it but her bad leg buckled and she was forced onto one knee.

 _Not here,_ she told herself. _Not out in the open. Keep going, find some shelter._

She made herself get to her feet, but she only made it a hundred yards before her left leg once more made her fall. She lay awhile with a cheek pressed against the road, watching the small waves of the lake come against the rocks. She managed a half-crawl to a small lump of bushes twenty yards up ahead.

She pushed herself into the dead ferns, which covered her from any prying eyes. She lay there on her back, fading towards sleep. She looked up to the sky and judged the time. Late noon. She brought her left arm over to her eye to block out the sun. She held onto consciousness a moment longer, straining herself to hear any nearby noises.

Then darkness took her, and she slept until morning.

 **3**

When Sam woke again there was a faint light to the east. Early morning. She sat up and checked herself over, careful of her leg.

Still attached. Going will have to be slow.

Walking like a drunkard, Sam made her way back to the road. There she stood, looking at the southern horizon where she'd come from. Then to the east, she held her face to the sun rising just over those distant mountains, taking in its warmth.

 _North._ Her soul told her. _Keep going north._

"How far north?" she asked. No one answered. She looked back south, to the mountains there. If she looked hard enough, she could just spot the Red Rocket, and beyond that, Syracuse, the last Settlement she visited. Where the next town was, or how far away, she did not know.

She continued north.

 **4**

She walked until the sun rose to its peak in the sky. She collapsed once, sure her leg would fall off. It did not. The sun grew warm, but not hot enough to heat up her systems to a comfortable level. The overcooling of her systems drained her Core at an alarming rate.

She made three more miles until she changed over her Core. The land in front and behind was unpleasing. Lake on her left, cratered plains to her right, the cracked, bug-infested road under her feet. The waves came and went, and she watched them vaguely. She went from nowhere to nowhere, feeling and looking pointless.

Shortly before the sun touched the west horizon, she climbed a hill and fell again, out of energy. She was sure this was the place. That she could go no further. Her body wouldn't let her.

On her hands and knees, she raised her head groggily… and a mile ahead, maybe two, she saw something. Something that stood up across the darkening sky.

It had four, large walls surrounding a pair of buildings. It was an old run-down prison, yet she spied plenty of movement in the inner courtyard. The big searchlights were on, and she could hear voices in the distance.

She kept her eyes on the prison and she slowly stood up. Her bad leg threatened to buckle, then straightened. The sun disappeared far off in the distance, leaving only the prison to light up the featureless Wasteland.

She began to walk toward it.

 **5**

While Sam trudged towards the prison, at its gates it Emre wheeled a trolley filled with his scavenged goods towards the gate guard, hesitant as he'd always been if the deal he was about to make would go down as smoothly as he hoped it would. The last thing the Enclave needed was another scout, spy, or whatever, get into trouble with the local druggies.

Scout, spy, or whatever. Emre didn't really know which one he was. His mission was to set up shop out here and keep tabs on anything that moved. He supposed he might've been a little bit of everything. But when it came down to trading with men and women jacked up on Jet, he was a kid playing Merchant.

He kept his cool and stopped as the guard raised a hand to him. He rested an arm on his boxes and waited. Hauling all this supply down from his hideout was no easy trip, even with the X-01 to help with the weight. Maybe he'd spend the night here to rest up…

When the man who guarded the gate came up to him, Emre regarded his features, and dropped that last thought altogether.

Guy looked like he'd been run over by a car.

… Also he stank.

"Raider, Caravan, traveller or…?" asked the sleazy little man. Emre nodded to his crates.

Painted on the front sides of them was the letter 'E', circled by tiny stars. The guard stared blankly at the symbols for a moment before looking a little more worried. "O-Oh. Sorry, I didn't notice."

"Here to trade," said Emre, his helmet garbling his voice, making it sound inhuman. "Guy named Drog?"

"Ah, yes. He's just inside. Come."

Emre replaced his hands on the trolley and pushed it forward, following behind the guard. They passed through the gate into the prison. Groups of two or three people walked about inside, their heads low, their voices only murmurs.

They turned into a narrow alley. No one gave them a second glance, which put Emre a little more at ease. Not much, but a little.

"What's your name?" Emre asked casually.

"Kye. Best guardsman around, been here the longest I reckon. I'd keep my wits around Drog if I were you."

"He bad for business?"

"Best there is around, actually," he replied. "Just don't mention his face. His mug's worse than mine… Don't tell him I said that."

The path Kye lead winded between clutters of trash and rubble. They turned a corner, then another, and the stone wall of the building which served to process new inmates some two hundred years ago loomed over them.

Kye lead Emre to a door in its side, opening it so Emre could fit his cargo through the frame.

"Drog don't like anyone but the client inside. I've gotta get back to the gate anyway."

"Thanks, Kye."

Kye nodded, before turning and walking away. Inside the building was incredibly dusty, covering everything in the wide room. Emre waved a hand in front of his face to clear the view.

A few feet deeper in, sitting along a table threatening to snap under weight, were three figures staring up at him. Two of them were smaller, thinner, common Raiders. The one that stood out, Drog, was twice their size.

When Drog stood, he even matched Emre's size, and Emre only looked big because of the power armour. The guy looked like a natural heavyweight champion. Long hair, tattoos on his huge arms, all he needed was the belt and a headband, and Emre would be looking at the post-apocalyptic Hulk Hogan.

Picturing Drog like that made Emre hold back a laugh. He fought it but ended up snorting loudly.

Big mistake.

Despite his huge size, Drog shot up like a bullet. His freakishly long legs made him tower over Emre, who gulped silently.

"You think my face is funny?" he accused. "You won't be laughing when I pummel your face into a bulp!"

" _Pulp_ ," corrected Emre.

"What!?"

"It's _pulp_."

Drog waved him off. "You bring everything, Enclave?"

"Did you? I want to see my share too."

"Mm." Drog pointed behind him. Emre turned and down the room he spotted two small crates chucked carelessly in what looked like the Visitors Station.

Emre let Drog pry open the trolley he brought with him, and walked over to the crates. The Visitation area was cut off from the main hall, further divided by windows set up above long wooden tables. Near the windows were telephones still hanging lifelessly on their cords.

He lifted one of the boxes onto one of the visitor booths that cut off the inmates side from the visitors. He vaguely wondered which side he was on, before bringing his attention to the contents of the box.

He had been running very low on ammo for his plasma rifle for the past month. Along with other bits and bobs any lowlife Raider would need, he had agreed to trade some of his Enclave tech to Drog, in exchange for enough ammo for another Tour out here in the Commonwealth.

He picked up a handful of cartridges in one hand, and pulled over his shoulder his personal plasma rifle with the other. He ejected the half-drained cells from the rifle, and replaced them with the fresh ones.

Aiming at the far wall casually, he fired. A green blob shot from the barrel, and melted a hole right through the old wall. Nodding, he holstered his rifle, and began packing the remaining cartridges. Sticking most of them in his pack that hung on his hip, and the rest onto his back, the suit magnetically sticking them within arms reach.

Just when he turned and began to return to Drog, he heard two small taps nearby. He looked up, startled, at the window that separated his side of the room. Moving away from the other side of the glass was the end of what looked like a katana. He followed the blade down to the hilt, to the figure holding it. Shadow covered the body, but he could tell it was a woman by the shape and curves. He felt like he'd just walked into a interrogation room – all the light was on him, and he had no idea who was about to start asking questions.

The katana pointed to the left, to the phone that hung on his side of the glass. He then realised that the sword-wielder had the _other_ phone to its head, waiting for him to pick up.

Not expecting the phone to work, he picked it up and put the receiver to his ear. A voice was heard, much to his surprise.

"Listen to me, Sir. _Listen well_. There isn't much time for either of us. If you want to leave this place you need to do exactly as I say. Get the leader talking, don't let them leave with the cargo."

To his ears, her voice sounded quite exotic. Quite foreign. He looked up to the figures head, trying to find her eyes in the shadow. He answered a moment later.

"Look, honey, I don't take orders from strange women. Not gonna let you push me around just because-" But she cut him off angrily.

"Would it make you feel better if I said please? Fine. Pretty please, will you go and goddamn distract that walking gym rat before he and his goons grow a brain and kill us both?"

He grinned in mild admiration. The day had been going too smoothly so far, and here came the trouble in the form of this woman. "I don't know, Drog seems like a fine gentleman to me." He paused waiting for a laugh. It didn't come. "Why's he want to kill us?"

"Besides wanting to get the best out of this deal? I got one of his guys after I snuck in after you."

"But Kye said he's the best guard around…"

"Who? What?"

"Nothing. Why'd you kill him? What are you doing in here?"

"You have something I want," she replied impatiently. "I'm taking our valuable time together to warn you, so you won't get in my way."

"The stuff I just gave Drog?"

"Spot on. I see him right now fiddling with those Fusion Core's. I need them more than those Raiders do."

"And if I want them back? They are technically mine. Maybe I should just warn Drog about you…"

"Should have expected this," she said more to herself. "I have information for you, in exchange for… 'cooperation'. You are Enclave, yes?"

He nodded. "Proudest citizen there is."

"Adams Air Force Base, Raven Rock – they're gone."

He furrowed his brow, momentarily believing her words to be genuine. Being a scout (spy, whatever) meant limited contact to Base, only radioing in every few months, but far as he could tell, their presence on the East Coast was very strong.

"And if I don't believe you?" he asked evenly. Careful not to change his expression.

She took a moment to answer. "That terminal behind you work?"

Over his shoulder just outside the Visitation, a small computer awaited input.

"Seems so."

"I'll show you your proof, if you don't take my word for it. I even know where the survivors have fled. You'll see… _After_ we've dealt with this 'Drog'. Do we have a deal?"

He thought for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. "Well… More supplies for me. Er, _us_ , I mean. Alright, I'm in."

"Finally," she said with a sigh, as if the conversation physically tired her. "Wait for my signal." Then she put the phone back on its rack, before he had a chance to ask any more questions. He stood there for the moment and watched the woman walk further into the dark, and out into an unseen door on the far side of the room.

He put his own phone back on its rack, and wondered briefly on how she knew phones worked. Real phones hadn't worked in two hundred years, unless of course she _was_ that old…

 _Only know one person that old,_ he thought, walking back towards Drog. _And he's about to break a deal with the Hulk._

He'd enlisted with the Enclave for one purpose: returning the U.S. back to its former glory, returning everything to _normality._ He really did believe the Enclave was the world's best chance at this, and although he knew the methods they used were considered horrible, sometimes inhuman, he knew to get things done nowadays, you had to get extreme.

Actually trading with an uncivilised brute who went by the name of 'Drog' was a relatively good sign for humanity in this case. That's not to say that Drog wouldn't have stabbed him in the back the moment the deal was over – that was always a possibility. But it would've been nice to see a deal go down without violence.

"Happy with everything, Enclave?"

He smiled behind his helmet at Drog. What was stopping him from warning Drog? Telling him a woman around here with a sword was causing trouble? He didn't believe Raven Rock _and_ Adams Air Force could be destroyed…

The Brotherhood were strong. Not as technologically advanced as the Enclave, but they wore Power Armour, and there were lots of them around D.C. But was there enough to take out the two largest bases they had in the East?

The risk was too great. If the bases had been destroyed, he _had_ to know. The only friendly people in this new world lived at Raven and Adams. And if they were destroyed, and this woman knew where they went.. He _needed_ that information.

And if she was lying… He could make her pay, no doubt about that.

"I'm impressed, Drog," he said happily. "How did you come across so many microfusion cells?"

 **6**

Sam put the phone back, moved to the exit, to the outside, all without looking back at the man in the Power Armour. She'd been programmed to limit her lying - to tell the truth. She _had_ told him the truth… if not the _whole_ truth.

He might be a little sharper than the rest of the humans, not much, but a little goes a long way. She'd just have to hope he didn't rat her out and kept his mouth shut.

 _My faith's in a human,_ she thought bitterly. _What has the great Sam come to?_

The last time she trusted a human enough was Evan, and she knew how bad that turned out.

Moving around the corner of the building, she caught sight of a thin man armed with a rifle. Drog had the building surrounded, whether as security or a way to betray the Enclave rep, she didn't care. They were threats, and she needed them dead.

She snuck up behind him and ran him through with her armblade. It was sloppy, and the man even let out a gasp too loud for her own good. But she was running on emergency power without a Fusion Core, and she was desperate.

She went past a green scorch mark that the man in the Power Armour had made with his plasma weapon. Two more of Drog's henchmen walked her way. She took the pair of them down without much resistance, and continued her way forward to a better position.

When she was created, before being eventually cast out of her 'home' by Norman and the Brotherhood, she hadn't been exposed to the life of the Wasteland very much. Everyone killed everyone, every _where_ , and she'd wondered and pried deep into her creators files for why humans did what they did.

She was innocent once, and when she killed her first human she had simply stood there, watching the corpse in awe, staring at her blade that served as her arm, thinking if she had made the right choice to take one life to save her own.

Innocence was weakness. _She_ was weak then, in that brief time she showed mercy to those that crossed her. But she was too far down the Path to consider the old times.

That was why she didn't even look back as she killed Drog's guards surrounding the prison building. She didn't feel sorry for these people as she stabbed them in the back. Sam knew what _that_ felt like countless times, and who better to vent it out on then lowlife Raiders?

She peered over a neck-high ledge, through an intact window that showed her Drog and the Enclave Man. They were talking. Drog seemed to be leading the conversation.

She was pleased to see the Enclave fellow had followed her along. He clearly cared for the people in Raven and Adam's. Any other time she would have welcomed the extra challenge. But she needed this man's resources, and his cooperation would help.

And in her current situation she needed all the help she could get. She wasn't naïve – or stuck-up, as Evan liked to put it – to refuse help when she needed it.

She got ready to give the signal.

 **7**

Drog was pleased at the sudden interest the Enclave Rep had with his little group of misfits. It was difficult to scrounge up all the plasma ammo, but in the end all the killing, robbing, and stealing had been worth it. If he could get the attention of the Enclave. _The_ Enclave. He could put down anyone. Maybe take over this Prison that served as a Freelance trading hub.

Emre had his arms folded, nodding at the parts Drog was proud of, going "Oh?" and "Ah." at the interesting parts. Doing his best to give the mysterious woman her time to do… whatever it was she was doing.

He was about to tell Drog if he added a sailors hat and a pipe to his attire he'd look like Pop-Eye when suddenly a figure burst feet-first through the nearby window, planting two steel feet into the back of Drog's second-in-command's head, shattering his skull. The impact was so quick and hard he smacked face-first into the ground, earning another snap as his nose broke.

Drog whipped frantically around, pulling from his hip a shotgun sawed-off so short it was no bigger than Drog's own hands holding it. Emre went forward, but with the suits amplification it was more like a launch. He seized the shotgun and lifted the barrel. It went off and smashed the ceiling above them.

"Really?! _That_ was the signal?" he yelled. Before he could face the woman who had barged into the room SWAT-style, Drog head-butted him, and Emre's head inside the helmet smacked against the steel, dazing him for a moment.

Drog pushed Emre violently away, enough so that he had to balance on his back foot to keep from falling. Drog was strong, but clumsy and panicked. He snapped his shotgun down to reload, but began to fumble with the shells.

Emre drew himself to his full height. He was about to reach for his plasma rifle, when the last of Drog's men closed in on him with a heavy, silver fire-axe in hand, cackling and grinning.

Emre instead drew his machete which was slung in a sheath about his shin, bringing it up to bare.

The rough-cut man launched forward with his axe. Emre went straight for his throat in turn, knocking him back hard. The smile on his face split into a cry.

"You should have just walked away," goaded the Raider, and tried to cut up into Emre's face. He dropped back and flicked the axe away effortlessly.

Hurrying forward, Emre aimed to let his blood. The axe was raised at the last moment to deflect the blow, but Emre cut the Raider no slack, going in with all his strength. After turning over his own attack, the Raider was barely able to stand.

With a whir of servos Emre kicked out with a heavy foot, planting heavy steel in the man's chest and sending him flying back and into the wall, knocking him out cold.

Drog took one look at his 'colleague', and it seemed to send him flying into a rage. He screamed wildly as he snapped closed his loaded shotgun, aiming it at Emre's head. At this distance a blast to his helmet could be fatal. But before either of them could react, the figure that barged through the window cut deep through Drog's left arm, making him cry out in pain.

Although Emre didn't see this, Sam smacked her electrified hand onto Drog's muscular back, giving him a few extra volts for good measure. Drog writhed in pain, trapped by the electric currents running through his bones. He flopped onto his side a second later, the hairs on his arms vaguely sizzling.

Emre turned to this newcomer, expecting the woman he'd talked to back at the booth. He almost went to pull his rifle at the sight, but the way it turned to him told him it was no threat to him.

An Assaultron, a Pre-war, deadly frontline mech, stared back at him. It resembled a woman. Looked woman-ish. It was beat up very badly, with bits of its exterior missing, torn away to reveal coppery machinery beneath. That being said it was still fully functional, and extremely deadly.

Emre's mind was rushing, but he figured if the thing wanted to kill him, it wouldn't be standing around looking at him and the room – Assaultrons he'd encountered in the past went right to the point with the killing, and this one was different.

He noted its left arm, where instead of an elbow and hand like its right arm, there was the katana that'd tapped on the window a few minutes ago.

When it noted his staring, the blade gradually lost sight behind its hip.

It seemed to want to say something, he could tell by the body language, since it had no mouth, only one crimson eye that bore holes in whatever it looked at. But it was silent as it walked passed him, close enough to nearly shoulder-check him, and limped towards the terminal they had mentioned before.

After looking at Drog's body, then to the Assaultron, then BACK at Drog again, he took off in a light jog after the robot. "You're the one I just…?"

"Surprised?" The mech leant over the terminal, already typing, not looking at him. That same curious voice entered his ears, and he couldn't quite place its familiarity. "Guess I'm getting pretty good at my harmless damsel act."

"I wouldn't call that harmless…" he said, glancing at the bodies behind them. "Do you kill anyone who won't help you?"

"If my cause is important enough, yes." She looked slightly up to him. "Are you any different?"

He shrugged. "I've killed before, but always with good reason."

"Given the people you represent, I find that rather amusing." Her hand never stopped moving on the keyboard, and she turned her attention back to the screen. "But we're getting off topic. Go get your cargo."

They didn't have long before someone noticed how quiet it was in the building, so Emre didn't argue further, and wheeled over his trolley that used to belong to Drog. When he returned, the Assaultron was fiddling inside her bag, taking out what looked like a small disk and inserting it into the terminal.

"Those are my memories of that place." She brushed passed him and wasted no time in digging for whatever she wanted. He in turn didn't spare a moment before hitting the play button on the terminal.

He expected the Assaultron's vision to be black and white, but it was in colour – the only thing different was everything had a tinge of red to it. He leant onto the table and watched.

The first scene was Raven Rock. Built into a cliff where the Enclave reinforced their positions within the Capitol Wasteland with Vertibirds and troops. The big metal entrance on the cliff-face spewed out rubble and flame, and the landing pad just outside it was covered in Enclave bodies and vehicle wrecks.

The next was Adams Air Force Base. It looked like a bomb had been dropped on it. The Base Crawler was a smouldering wreck, the hangers were empty, and the runway looked like a no-man's-land, where more soldiers in Power Armour lay dead.

Emre was stationed at Raven Rock mostly, with the occasional transfer by his superiors over to Adams. Seeing the Crawler in person for the first time, seeing the _size_ of it, and the amount of such advanced technology, he knew then that nothing could stop the Enclave.

Well, _thought_ so anyway.

"Was it the Brotherhood?" he asked. He was pissed off, angry, and scared. He supposed he should be grateful he was assigned to scouting rather than being _in_ whatever fight had happened however long ago, but he did not think of it that way. This was the second time everything had been taken from him, and his mind couldn't decide whether to be angry or relieved he was still breathing.

"Yes. Last I saw they were recovering leftover technology." She was holding one of his Fusion Core's. He ejected the memory disk and held it in his hand. He walked up to the by the Assaultron's side, watching her loot his stuff uninterestedly.

She looked at him briefly. "So you believe me now?"

He gave a small nod, turning the disk in his hand. "I… Thanks. Take as many as you want, got loads back at home."

"Mm." She moved around a pile of bullets, and retrieved another Core.

"So where did the survivors go? You said you knew whe-"

A tumbling clicking sound coming from his side. He looked down at the source: a yellow highlighted, ridged device that rolled to settle right where his foot was.

"Grenade!" he shouted, diving out of the way. Just before the explosion, he could vaguely see the Assaultron lunging the other way.

Flame blanketed him for an instant. His ears shattered against the tremendous noise the grenade made. It had not been the loudest, most devastating explosion he'd ever seen or heard, but combine it with the fact it completely eradicated the boxes filled with Core's and ammunition, and it was enough to remind him of the nightmarish clack that had haunted him years ago.

When he pulled enough strength to stand again, his armour was scorched and where his cargo had been was a small crater. Pockets of fire licked the edges of the prison building, and he instantly began searching for the Assaultron.

After all, she… _it_ , or whatever… had information he needed.

He found the mech lying on its back, its faded green armour slightly blackened from the fire. It was missing a leg, the left one to be precise, but its eye still regarded him distantly. He knelt down to it.

"Was that Drog?" she asked. Despite her state and her 'injuries' she talked like they were discussing the weather.

Emre took off his helmet and put it under his arm. "Could've been. Doesn't matter. Where did the Enclave go?"

She shook her head. "I'm not telling you."

He was taken back for a moment. "Won't tell me? You look like you're on the edge, honey. You don't have long."

"Fusion Core's."

"What? That 'nade blew up everything. That's it. No more."

"You wear Power Armour. Plus you said you have more. At your home."

"Well… yeah. What, you gonna walk up there? Look at you!"

"You can take me."

He stuttered for a moment. "Out of the question! I won't lug you around for your own sake."

"If not me, do it for your Enclave," she replied. "Only I know where they went."

He remembered about the disk he was holding, and thought he could simply use that to find them. When he realised he was holding it during the explosion, he shook that thought away. It was gone now.

Sam watched his expression change. Fear, regret, anger then calm, in that order. Strange man. She would've liked to know him better.

"Clever little robot, aren't you?" He sighed. "… Fine. I won't shoot the messenger. But I'm doing this for them, not for you. Okay?"

It was fine by her. She nodded. Emre put his helmet back on.

He grabbed her disembodied leg which was lying nearby, put it under an arm. Then he hooked his hands under her armpits, and began to lift her.


End file.
